


A Cabin In The Woods

by MsMockingbird



Series: The Mockingverse [15]
Category: Avengers (Marvel), Hawkeye (Marvel) - Fandom, Mockingbird (Marvel) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Plotless, all about the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMockingbird/pseuds/MsMockingbird
Summary: A quiet, peaceful interlude for Hawkeye and Mockingbird. I just wanted to write something that was about nothing but love and pleasure and joy, to counteract the horror of the world right now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This occurs just after "Road Trip". It the 'thank you for not leaving me' weekend Hawkeye promised Mockingbird post that little debacle. 
> 
> It is basically one extended sex scene.

Clint swung back into the rental car—a British Racing Green two seater sports car that made manly _vrooming_ noises whenever he hit the gas. Bobbi looked up from her Starktab.

“Please tell me someone shivved him?” She said dryly.

“Nope. No puncture wounds. He looks…good actually. Happy.”

“Lovely. My back from the dead brother in law is happy in prison. Shawshank-fucking-redemption time.”

Clint winced. 

She laughed at him. “Just drive, Hawkeye. This trip gets you even with me, remember? Though I think you owe Stark again.”

“If you figure out how to get Mister-Captain-I’m-So-Disappointed-In-You-Clint off my back, would you share?” He asked, pulling them out onto the road headed east and gunning the engine.

“Nope. You earned him this time around.”

He snorted and concentrated on the road. Jarvis quietly spoke from his phone now and then, giving him directions further and further into the mountains on the Virginia border. Eventually, with the sun setting over the quite glorious forest, they pulled up to a security gate at the bottom of a paved driveway. It swung open and in a few minutes they were pulling up to the front door of a neat, clean, rustic looking building that seemed to extend down a hill at least another story. In the distance, the last of the light glinted off a lake. Well, Stark had mentioned a dock. And boats. 

That had made Clint happy. He was great at boats.

Neither of them had much luggage, just a couple of back packs and their weapons cases. Bobbi placed her palm on the pad next to the door, followed by Clint. The door beeped and slid open, soft warm lights flicking on as they entered. 

They dropped what bags they had as soon as they stepped inside.

"Um...whoa." Hawkeye froze in tiled entrance space. "This is not a bungalow."

What had been visible from the road had been just the front of the structure, with hooks and places for shoes, a battered chair. Glorified mud room. 

The rest of the building stretched out to a huge window/glass wall over looking the deep blue water of the lake, down two flights of stairs. The central area of the first level had artfully arranged furniture around a media centre, including a huge dining table. A gleaming kitchen flared off to the right; a closed sliding door on the other side was probably a bathroom. 

The bottom level was mostly another open plan gathering area but the whole right side was partitioned off. Through a wide sliding door they could see the foot of a bed that seemed to stretch endlessly away from them. The window/wall overlooked a huge deck with a covered barbecue pit and a kitchen area with fridge, sink and other amenities lost in the gathering night.

Mockingbird shut the front door behind them and made sure the electronic lock had engaged before turning around again. Hawkeye caught her fingers, rubbing his thumbs across her palms.

"What'cha think, Mocky?"

She took a deep breath, disengaged her hands and cupped his face.

"I think if you're not naked on that bed and inside me in less than two minutes there will be serious hell to pay." 

Tandem vaulting both railings at a dead sprint cut their time to just under one. They were not technically naked for a few minutes after hitting the crisp, cool surface of the huge bed but since they had achieved her other requirement almost instantly Bobbi was willing to forgive and forget the lapse.

Sometime later they swam up out of the linen and cotton and pillows to breathe and plan the rest of the day/evening/night. Bobbi voted for not leaving the bed surface--she suggested adding the bed to their marriage as a third partner. Clint countered by pointing out they needed sustenance at their current level of peak physical effort, so at least one meal was required. She grumbled but acquiesced to the need. They adjourned naked to the wonderful kitchen to discover a fridge filled with delicious finger foods: cooked meat kabobs, sliced fruit, shellfish in delicate batter, little rounds of crisp bread spread with lovely things.

"I am in awe of Pepper’s foresight. This is all...trysting food," Bobbi said with a head shake.

Hawkeye looked up with a skewer half sticking out of his mouth. "Twristing?" He mumbled around the meat.

"Tryst. Old English. Make an appointment to meet your lover. This is all food for people to hand feed each other." 

"Man, it would be so rude to disappoint her then."

"Agreed, sport."

Bobbi opened cupboards and located glasses, napkins and a tray. Clint piled up a nice selection of delicacies. She snagged a chilled water jug with honey and citrus added to it, then grinned widely and opened a small door on what turned out to be a dual temperature wine fridge. 

She extracted two bottles: one of Cristal champagne and a bottle of red wine called "Hot Flash". Clint grinned back at her and added a corkscrew to his tray. Getting drunk was a huge luxury for them, something that had to be planned ahead for days sometimes. They’d have a glass of wine or a beer once in a while but they'd have to warn the rest of the team and make sure their watches were covered for anything more. The sheer pleasure of being able pour as much as they both liked had been something they saved for birthdays, anniversaries.

Here, they were safe. Howard Stark had built this place as a fall back in times of war and maintained the security. So had Tony, updating it obsessively all the time. The quinjet could be at their location in a matter of hours at most and the defences here were so strong they wouldn't need more. 

Settled back into the super-extra-mega king bed, Bobbi spread the fluffy bath towel she'd grabbed over the sheets and starting fussing with the plates. Just as she finished she felt Clint's hands on her shoulders. 

"Hold still," he murmured against her neck. She arched her back into him as a wide soft length of cloth covered her eyes and was knotted loosely behind her head. Mockingbird giggled joyfully, like a child, and clapped her hands. He pushed her down till she was supine, her upper body supported by a raft of pillows. 

The surface of the feather mattress rippled as Clint settled onto it just beside her. Bobbi surrendered control to him utterly; she been expecting something like this. Clint's knee jerk reaction to nearly losing her was always 'yell then pamper'. It had been a few weeks but he still looked shellshocked about half the time. It heartened her to know he’d taken her leaving him as a serious threat…which it had been at the time. 

He fed them both and she happily accepted whatever he touched to her lips: food, water, wine...body parts. He was certainly not keeping his own mouth or hands to himself. He knew how much she loved his big strong fingers. She lost track of the number of times he brought her to a climax; so many she started to feel guilty about not reciprocating enough. When she mewed as much at him, he laughed in her ear.

"Do not try to deprive a man of his right to watch his woman lose consciousness from orgasm-induced exhaustion." 

His tongue flicked from the hollow of her throat to her breasts. Bobbi shuddered and moaned, weakly. "'Sides, I'm having plenty fun myself, don't worry about it."

He got his wish fairly soon and she figured he passed out himself right after her; he did think to move the remnants of their feast to a side table so when she woke it wasn't covered in food.

Bobbi roused in the early morning, just as the light outside was deepening to true dawn. The temperature in the room was marvelous: crisp enough to make the soft sheets welcome but not cold enough to need a blanket. Clint was on his back with his arms stretched out to the side, as though even in sleep he was holding his bow.

She took stock of herself, stretching and counting the aches and pains. Her old knee injury twinged a little. Her back had wrenched during a frenzied escape from a burning building last week and never got a chance to heal all the way but it felt good at the moment. She was sore in a couple of new, intimate places but it was a pleasant soreness. She licked her lips remembering how she'd gotten that way.

Slipping away to the master bathroom--twice the size of her whole cabin on the Helicarrier back in the dark ages--Bobbi returned to the bed just as Clint started his ninety percent asleep where-is-Bobbi mumble and grab. She slide back under the sheets and touched his chest with her lips.

She was wide awake now and inclined to make up a bit of the sexual karmic debt between them. 

Bobbi stretched out against Clint's side, pressing into his body until he stopped fussing. She would wake up the moment he did that but he would usually stay asleep for a random length of time. It was a game for her, to see how far along she could get before he woke.

Not bothering with delicate foreplay, Bobbi twitched her right leg over his thighs and eased herself up until she was straddling his legs, her knees outside of his. She pulled the sheet up with her so she could look at him for a moment.

Just looking at Clint in any situation--across a conference table, a battlefield, an elevator--got Bobbi's motor revving. She'd been with him for over a half a decade now and still wanted to jump his bones as often and as hard as she had the day they met.

It was him, she knew, and not just "any attractive man"; realistically, Steve was the best looking human she'd ever met and Thor was the best looking everything else. Neither of them activated anything for her but an aesthetic appreciation of their charms and a mild 'ick-brother' at the thought of everything else. 

Falcon, Iron Man, even Banner were all good looking men, charming, smart…and nothing more than friends to her.

Hawkeye was shorter than Steve, with a whipcord build (though his arms and chest muscles were like living steel). He had a pug nose, small mouth and a furrow between his brows. Steve and Thor, Sam and Tony, were gorgeous purebreds; Clint was a junk yard dog.

She'd seen Steve and Thor and Sam and Natasha and Tony and especially Bruce naked more than once and barely registered it; Clint could lean over fully clothed to turn on a light switch and she would start drooling and twitching. 

Naked and warm and smelling of sweat and sex like he was now and he might as well have been injection of aphrodisiac. 

She'd liberated a container of pure cocoa butter from the bathroom. Taking some on her fingers, she spread it liberally around her chest, biting her lip as she brushed the slickness across her nipples. 

Hawkeye's body was reacting to her presence: his cock was stiffening. She grinned and leaned down to lick delicately at the tip. He moaned and jerked, still unconscious. 

Bobbi cupped her own breasts and pushed them together, then leaned further down and pillowed Hawkeye's penis between them. She began to slide up and down, his shaft slick with the cocoa butter and her own sweat. As the head emerged from her cleavage she would stop and lick it again. 

It was a testament to how exhausted he was that it took three repetitions before Clint woke with a gasp. He shoved himself up on his palms in startled confusion, took in the situation with a sniper's instant awareness and relaxed. 

"Oh, little bird," he whispered, his deep voice all smoke and sex. "Don't stoooop."

Bobbi kept the pace slow, languid, torturous. Clint's powerful hands fisted into the sheets, knuckles white. His back arched like his own bow, his eyes squeezed shut. Bobbi grinned up at him between thrusts, laughing darkly at his moans.

"You...vicious...bitch," he sobbed at one point. 

Bobbi paused and made a decision. She leaned forward as far as she could with his cock still nestled between her breasts and made a sound. It was sort of a whimper and a moan and a sigh all rolled together. It was what he called 'the best sound in the universe'; she normally made it just as he entered her. 

Clint reacted to it as though he'd been conditioned. He sat bolt upright, grabbed her thighs and flipped her onto her back like she was a stuffed toy. Then he grabbed her waist and threw her onto her stomach. Bobbi shrieked happily and arched her hips into the air.

Hawkeye mounted her, spread her legs and entered her with a single nearly brutal thrust. Bobbi screamed as he buried one hand in her hair, the other around her waist with his fingers flickering over her clit. He was snarling in her ear as his hips pumped hard and fast, each time to the hilt.

It was primal and fiery and so intense she came almost instantly, crying his name. He reared back, set his grip on her hips and just let go, howling incoherently with his own climax a few thrusts later.

They both collapsed onto the bed afterwards, Clint with an arm over his face and part of his weight on her; Bobbi was coughing and muttering into the sheets, face down.

When she could breathe again she squirmed out from under him and cuddled up against his side, both of them now face up.

"Ain't going to top that any time soon," Clint offered weakly. 

"Not till tonight, at least."

"Your faith in me is always comforting." 

"It's a good team effort."

*****

The cabin had two whole perpendicular walls of floor to ceiling windows in the open living room on the bottom, something that wasn't glass, polarized on the outside so no one could see in but letting in all the natural light as though perfectly clear. They went up two stories, perfectly framing the view of the deck, the dock and the lake beyond. They looked fragile as any crystal but Bobbi figured they could repel rockets. That's what happened when very rich engineers built secluded cabins in the woods. 

A cursory exploration when they had woken up had located the other bedrooms, two more full baths, the garage and some storage, as well as a walk-in freezer and ample pantry, all dug into the side of the hill.

That second morning...well, morning in as much as it was when they left the bedroom...they had split up into separate bathrooms. Though neither one of them was fussy about such things being 'bathroom casual' with each other was not something they did unless forced by circumstances. There had to be some mysteries. Clint happened to be walking naked back through the slightly sunken bottom floor living room when Bobbi came out of the main bathroom wrapped in a towel. 

The room was all southern exposure and flooded with sunlight and as he walked it gave him an aura so that he seemed to glow. 

Despite herself, Bobbi cried out, sounding shocked. Clint stopped and looked up at her. He smiled quizzically, not concerned. He knew the sound of her frightened or warning him of danger; this was different. Almost transcendent. 

As he started walking again she gasped out, "No! No! Don't....don't move." 

He stopped, the smile fading from his face at the intensity in her voice. "Is ever--" he started to ask. 

"There's no danger it's just...oh, my love--" and her voice failed. She just stared at him. He smiled again and stood still, studying her. His natural state was stillness, she had learned many years ago. When he came to rest he just...stopped moving, his powerful body holding itself poised but motionless. He could stand still as no human she had ever met could, the stillness of a hunting animal, a waiting spider...a bird of prey about to strike. 

Bobbi's brain shut down from the sheer, surreal beauty of him, there in the sunlight, naked and shining and perfect. She had to capture this somehow... 

"My golden hawk...may I take your picture? Please?" 

"Well yeah, of course," he crinkled his nose at her. She spun and dove into the bedroom, grabbing her Starkphone. The Avengers custom models, each made specifically for them by Tony, had more bells and whistles than a steam train convention. The camera on hers was movie quality. 

She dove back out, shedding the towel and gulped. "Can you...back up, stand by the window? Full in the sun ?" 

He obediently backed up, putting his back against one crystal pane and turning his face up towards the sunlight pouring in from the left. He closed his eyes, his face set in a lazy half-smile. 

She took a full body shot, toes to messy hair and it was the most breathtaking thing she had ever seen. Advancing forward, Bobbi took more pictures, a shot of just his face, then the top half of his body, cutting off at the sharp line of his oblique abs as they plunged down to his groin. She started to go lower and stopped. 

"Clint? Can I take a picture of your cock?" 

"I already said yes," he laughed at her. 

"Yeah, but...it's...we've never talked about consent much, have we?" 

He opened his eyes but did not move out of the light. He was melting her brain with his absurd beauty. 

"Have I ever...done something that you didn't consent too?" he asked her, serious suddenly. 

"No, actually. I just started thinking about it now and I realized...even when we're half-asleep or half-drunk or half-crazy I think you've always asked me if I was okay, if I wanted you to touch me. Sometimes its not words but...you always ask. And you never do anything till I answer. I've never realized how lucky I am to have you, after...everything that happened to me. Because you always ask you don't always have to ask...if that makes sense?" 

"No, but you're the genius here, little bird," he smiled at her, light and happy again. 

"You deserve the same from me. I don't own you or your body. You're so...do you even know how beautiful you are? I want to take a picture of every bit of you but you...it's your body. Even the bits you let me play with all the time. even when I objectify you as hard as I can sometimes. I won't...I would never touch you or anything without your consent." She took a deep breath. "Please can I take more pictures of you? Of all of you?" 

"You can take any picture of me that you like, now or anytime. You can objectify me all you like. If it matters, I know I'm not just meat to you, my little bird. Five years now, I don't think even I'm a good enough lay to keep you interested if I bored your big brain." 

She laughed. "Don't undercut yourself. You're sensational in bed." She held up the phone. "Stretch like a cat for me then, my golden hawk." 

He leaned back on the window pane, his incredibly long arms reaching up and up, the muscles sliding and bunching under the skin. His back arched a little, pushing his hips up and more into the sunlight. Bobbi stepped forward and dropped to her knees, focusing her camera on his groin. His penis was getting hard even now, semi-tumescent against his thigh. His pubic hair was the same shade as his sandy blond head, but finer and lighter. HIs balls were high and firm, pillowing the line of his erection. He had the most perfectly formed cock she'd ever seen. Just a little longer than average, it was shapely, almost graceful, and wonderfully thick. 

She breathed deep, close enough now to taste his sweat in the air, the musk off his skin, earthy and dark like rich whiskey and raised her head to expose her throat for a moment. She took another picture, breathless with the light and shadow framing his swiftly rising erection. 

"You look like you're in church," Clint said in a half-sleepy, half-aroused tone. 

"Bless me, Hawkeye, for I have sinned. It's been...whoa, looooooonnnnng time since my last confession," she said, laughing darkly, inching along the smooth wooden floor towards him. She snagged the towel she had dropped with her foot, hitched it up until she could grab it awkwardly and folded it into a knee pad. 

"What do you have to confess, little bird?" he said in a thick whisper, still standing against the wall, poised like a statue of some martyr ready to die in a stained glass window. 

She tossed the phone onto the nearest chair. "I have been unfaithful to your magnificence. There was a whole five minutes today when I didn't think about fucking you. It's grievous, I know. Mortal even." She was nearly at this toes now, looking up the length of his body, her mouth watering at the luscious perfect lines of his abs, his glutes, his biceps. 

"You'll have to do penance for that sin against god and man, little bird," he breathed out. 

She bent and kissed the tops of his feet and felt him shiver. Her hands stroked up his legs from the ankle, rough against the bristly hair, dampening with sweat. She tickled the back of his knees and giggled when he jerked. Her left hand circled up around his thigh and cradled his balls, loving the heavy velvet warmth of them against her palm. Her other hand curled up to circle the base of his shaft, now rock hard. She slid her cupped hand up to the tip of his erection, letting the damp skin drag just a little on the ridge of muscle along the bottom. He sucked in his breath hard, arching further against the window. 

The air was warm and thick on her bare shoulders, making her feel like she was bathing in milk. She turned her head, pushed his erection up to lie against his stomach and leaned in to gently take first one testicle, then the other in her mouth, sucking on them, rolling them on her tongue for a moment. He groaned, the sound nearly sub-audible. She shook with it, shivering at the wet tightness that started between her thighs. Her pussy ached like a bruise. 

Bobbi lapped at the base of his cock again, layering saliva onto sweat till the skin was shiny and slick. The she moved up and made another ring, drawing her tongue up and around and over. Centimeter by centimeter she made her way up the length of his shaft, then circled the tip with her tongue again. 

She escalated now --she knew his limits, knew exactly how hard she could press, what she could apply where. She knew she could let just the edges of her teeth, the flat sides prominent, slide across his skin when it was this slick, leaving tiny indents on his straining flesh. 

Knew she could turn her head again and find that ridge of muscle on the bottom side of his erection that so many people neglected, touch the edges with her lips, suck in hard and glide up and down the line of it, listening to him gasp and nearly scream as she completed the journey for the first time. She did it again, moaning unconsciously herself with the power and pleasure of it. That this man, this lethal creature of will and focus trusted and loved her so much he would surrender himself to her so utterly was like being drunk, like being high, only combat itself remotely equal. 

She wished she could deep throat him but she couldn't, her gag reflex was too strong. It hurt her heart sometimes but when she'd mentioned it to him he'd laughed himself sick. _Sure, little bird, I'm broken up about that. Just wrecked. Five plus years of the best sex, the best blow jobs I've ever had and I'm looking to replace you cause you can't do stupid fantasy stuff._ Then he'd gone down on her till she screamed. 

Today she wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock, shiny and glistening with pre-cum, the smooth circumcised flesh feeling warm and solid against her tongue. Freshly showered, the only things on his skin were salt sweat and the taste of him that pierced her to the back of her lizard brain, making her want to pant and whimper and present herself to him like a lioness in heat. He moaned again as she took as much of his length into her mouth as she could, her free hand cradling his balls like baby animals. Her other hand splayed out against his hip, pushing him back against the sun warmed window, holding him still. As powerful as he was, she knew how to use her own not inconsiderable strength to great effect. One of his hands came down, stroking across the back of her neck like a kiss and then swooping back up against the window. 

She worked into a smooth rthyem, lips, mouth, hands. She made her thumb and index finger into a ring and followed her tongue with it, squeezing just a little. Sometimes she stopped, just holding him, feathering the tip across her lips from side to side as he shook and trembled, trying to control his body. She gathered her long golden hair into her hand and wrapped it around his shaft like a ribbon, then turned her head so the silky tresses unraveled around him. 

That nearly killed him apparently because he made a noise he'd only ever made before when he took a bullet to the gut. 

"Little...bird..." Hawkeye gasped and she heard the need and longing in his voice. Firmly, she shoved him back against the window, both of them still bathed in the sun and set about in true earnest, fingers stroking and squeezing, lips firm and wet on his skin, sucking and licking as she made her way from the curly nest of his pubic hair to the end of his cock and back again. 

She felt him tense and jerk his hips against her fingers and leaned in, mouth wrapped around him. 

Clint cried out her name and came. Bobbi swallowed, the hot salt of his pleasure making her close her eyes and groan joyfully. A timeless time later Clint slide down the window with a thin scraping whine and joined her on the floor. She sat back on her haunches and grinned at him, licking her lips like a cat. 

"Those must have been really great pictures," he muttered. "Or you're planning to kill me and needed me weak and incapacitated. I have nap now?" He held out his hands to her and she pulled him up, supporting him like he was sick. Once in the bedroom he fell face down on the bed and passed out. Bobbi stroked his hair a moment, gently kissed the back of his neck and pulled a single sheet up over him. She turned the temperature in the room down a few notches--he liked sleeping in a cold room--and threw on a bikini. On the way out the back door she set the security system to maximum alert and grabbed her batons. 

Making Clint come like that always energized her. 

***** 

Clint woke up with cool air on the back of his neck. He curled onto his side and thought very deeply about his life for a little while. He came to the conclusion that either the universe was playing the longest con possible on him or he actually HAD managed to marriage his perfect partner. As always when that thought came to him, he thought also of Natasha--and it still ached just a little, deep down, that she hadn't been the one to be this for him. He had loved her as honestly and deeply as he loved Bobbi; still loved her, still dreamed of her sometimes. Bobbi knew, and he knew it hurt her when he woke speaking his terrible Russian. But then sometimes her voice would take on a British accent for a moment and he knew she was back in London with Hunter in her mind. 

It would be worse for both of them if they didn't know and like the other's ex. He knew Lance wasn't a threat; she knew Natasha would literally die to preserve their marriage. 

He'd almost lost her by a combination of fear and deceit and she was still around because she'd chosen him over her own principles. That didn't compute to him--what was he but an uneducated carny hick dipshit with some passing skill with a stick and string? Why would she betray the things that had kept her safe, kept her whole, kept her strong for _him_? 

She'd said it herself, that he had the power to break her now, as she had never been broken by AIM, or Slade. By pain, fear, sorrow, war. As a fugitive and criminal, berefit of hope, she had held her course like a guided missle, going for what she needed to survive. And she had sat in a hotel room in Las Vegas and abrogated that power to him. 

He'd lied to her. Over Barney of all people. Willfully lied and gotten caught as he'd deserved to be. Over Barney. Over his useless asshole brother. Whom she'd then saved, protected, when she coulda/shoulda thrown him to any of the many wolf packs who wanted his guts for party hats. 

Barney was blood, which he guess mattered. Not that the Barton line had much about it that deserved to be preserved. Barney was that kind of brother, the least kind. The unchosen. 

Steve was more of a brother to him than Barney ever was. Stark, Thor, Banner, Wilson, those were his brothers. Natasha was his partner, his sister. 

Bobbi was his life. What was that line from that musical she loved? "He'd have walked the world over to get her a blade of grass that she wanted". 

He'd crawl through broken glass just to let her spit in his eye. 

So, did that make him weak? Lots of men might have said so. He'd been raised to think that, raised to think the only "correct" emotions for a man were anger and lust. 

No. 

It was circular logic he knew but he wasn't weak for loving her...because she loved him. That golden goddess, brilliant as the sun , strong as the earth, changeable as a wildfire, inexorable as the tides, mercurial, reckless, passionate...that woman would not love a weak man. 

And in any case, love didn't make anyone weak. Fear did. He'd never felt smaller or more helpless when he was afraid she was going to leave him. If he didn't want to be weak, he'd have to take control of that. If he acted like the man she needed him to be, he'd never lose her by his own actions. They might lose each other through violence--in all honesty, they both knew damn well that was how their marriage would likely end, with one of them in an early grave and the other left a grieving, probably suicidal mess--if they were lucky they'd go out together. 

He could...just...bear that. He could just live with that idea, of one of them dying a hero's death being the thing that separated them. She'd told Steve once she expected to go out in battle, in pain and fear, surrounded by angry people who hated her. He could just--just!--deal with it on those terms. He hoped he was there next to her so she wasn't alone was all. 

He shrugged into some shorts and stalked back into the living room. Her phone was still on the chair and he picked it up. All the Avengers could access each other's phones, at least partially. He pulled up her picture files and studied the shots she had taken of him four hours ago. 

Despite being pretty straight, and the pictures being of himself, he had to acknowledge that the lighting and composition were stunning. The shots of his junk in particular looked like they'd been taken by someone who worshipped them. 

Well, given the blow job she's supplied immidately after it was fair to say she did worship him. 

He smiled thinking about how he would do a photo essay of her. Maybe walking up from the dock, just in that pink bikini she had, stripping the top off slowly as she walked. Shedding the bottom at the foot of a lounge chair, draping herself over it in the sunshine. All her scars, all the marks of her hard life clear on her skin. The marks of survival and strength. He closed his eyes, dropping the phone back down. Imagined taking close up pictures of each of her nipples, with their big dark areoles. Of a shot from the top of her head all the way down her foreshortened body, through her cleavage so that the tangle of her bush was the last thing in frame. A picture or two of her pussy, the contrast of the crinkly hair, her smooth thighs and the fat pink folds of her labia as beautiful as any sunset. Just thinking about it, about spreading her open with his fingers, stroking her, letting the nub of her clitoris center the frame made his cock harden again. 

Yeah, he'd ask her about that and if she said yes... 

Looking out he saw her at the dock now. She had her batons out, snapped together, and the staff was a metallic blur in the late afternoon sunshine, whipping around her in constant beautiful motion. She was in her fugue state, like he got when he was really shooting well--he wouldn't bug her now for the world. He snagged the book he'd been reading last night and went to sit down on the patio himself, making a detour to the kitchen for the beer they'd put in to cool and a couple of glasses, as well as some flavoured water. She'd be done soon, he could see from where she was in her routine. 

Maybe fifteen minutes later, Bobbi plopped into her own chair, in the shade of the umbrella, chugging and refilling her water twice and then settling back to sip on the beer he'd poured for her as she sat down. He smiled at her and went back to his book. He'd brought out her Starktab--she had so many books going at once she'd had to switch to the e-reader when they weren't at the Tower. Her skin gleamed with sweat and the fabric of her bikini was soaked through. The air was warm and mellow; she didn't bother to change. 

"So," she said after a lengthy period of companionable silence, both of them sipping and reading. "Freezer food or do you want to risk my cooking?" 

"I'm making dinner tonight ," he said. "The grill's heating up now--I told Jarvis-lite to do that this morning.” The cabin had its own proto-AI, with the same voice as their friend back in New York. “Steak, baked potatoes, spinach salad, berries and whip cream sound okay?" 

"Loverly," she said. 

He looked up to catch her staring at him. "What?" 

"You absolutely don't bore me," she said, cocking her head to one side. "Outside of the bedroom, I'm not bored talking to you about anything, ever." 

"Give it a few more years, little bird," he snorted. 

"Eh, I'd say at least a decade," she retorted. 

That sounded like a fine commitment to him, and he beamed at her. “Say, I was wondering—I looked at those pictures you took of me earlier…”

*****

Clint stroked a chunk of bread through the garlic and wine sauce on his plate and glanced up as Bobbi rose from the table to stick her own plate in the dishwasher.

She leaned down, wearing a pair of jean shorts and a tank top, the indirect light in the kitchen making her skin look like velvet.

“Well,” Clint said in a mild voice, “looks like dessert it right out.”

“Huh?” Bobbi said, looking up.

He vaulted the table one handed, landing next to her in the kitchen. She kicked the dishwasher closed in self defence as he picked her up and set her on the counter.

“Kitchen counters,” he muttered against her hair, “why are they the perfect height for sex?”

She placed her bare feet against his hips, scooting back against the counter top, holding him off. “In the last year alone you have said that about fifteen different objects.”

“Yeah,” Clint growled. “And?”

“They were all different heights,” she responded primly.

The air in the room, already charged, crackled with energy. 

“So…it’s going to be that way?” Clint said, coolly.

“It’s going to be that way,” she nodded. 

She knocked him down, scissoring her legs across his body, one at chest level the other against his hips from the other direction. He hit the tile floor on his back, scrambled back up, saw her vault the railing to the bottom floor. He hook slid over the counter top and followed her, in time to see the bedroom door slam shut. In the seconds it took him to cross the space and rip it open, she had disappeared.

The en suite bathroom—as large again as the bedroom, with a glassed over indoor/outdoor nook that extended over a small cliff face and contained the hot tub—had a door to the equally huge walk in closet. From there a shared corridor led to the garage, a work room with computers and tools and the back stairs to the top floor. She could be literally anywhere in the house right now.

Their weapons cases were open on the bed. From hers a single item was missing: her tactical googles. So, that was the rule set. One toy apiece, hide and seek.

“Cheater,” he muttered. She had taken the most versatile item she owned; not a weapon but something that negated his ability to move unseen in the house. 

All the lights went off at once. 

Clint reached over and touched his spare arrow heads, found the one he wanted and tucked it into his pocket without looking. Then he sidled over to the environmental controls on the wall. Pulling up the main program he set the thermostat to 98 degrees. Within seconds the air around him grew uncomfortably warm. 

“Jarvis,” Clint whispered. “All environmental controls to my voice imprint only.” The words ‘Controls Locked’ appeared on the glass face of the control panel.

Through the open door of the bedroom he heard a haunting laugh.

“Clever boy,” Bobbi’s voice whispered through the gloom. There was light from the moon outside near the windows but most the house was pitch black. She could still see, of course, using the night vision but if she switched over to thermals to track him the blood warm air would confuse the sensors. 

Clint closed and time locked his weapons case so she couldn’t see what he’d taken, then inched around the still open door towards the back corridor. Passing silently through the bathroom, he sidled into the closet, aiming for the far door.

The floor moved under his feet, sending him tumbling. She’d set up an impromptu booby-trap of their shoes, turned on their sides and littering the space.

“Fuck,” he hissed. No way she hadn’t heard that. Instead of jumping up and running back the way he came Clint crawled towards the front door, encountering nothing else on his way. In the access corridor he stopped to think. These cat and mouse games could be paralyzing amongst the Avenger. They all knew each other too well and they were all too adept at thinking on the fly. Should he do the obvious thing, hoping she wouldn’t expect that? Or should he do something wildly strange and hope she couldn’t adapt?

He had the advantage of knowing what her capabilities were but she didn’t know what trick he had up his sleeve. Rising, Clint touched the wall and carefully advanced towards the back stairs. He crept up them one at a time, stopping to listen with each motion. He thought he heard her cross the floor towards the main stair case but the building was so solid there was no creaking and barefoot she might as well have been levitating. 

He stopped on the landing to breathe deep and think unsexy thoughts. His burgeoning erection was making it hard to concentrate. And move well. 

He cleared the top step in a crouch, eyes unfocused. He needed to track general motion, not specific details.

On the bottom floor, he heard a chair scrape on the wood.

Since he knew she didn’t think he was stupid, he figured she was just trying to be a smart ass. He moved still in that low crouch to the wall closest to the garage and touched the control monitor above him.

“Open all the exterior doors in five seconds, for ten seconds, then close again,” he whispered. 

_Five, four, three, two, one…_

All the doors slid or swung open. Clint darted into the garage and then out onto the driveway. As the doors slid shut again he heard a faint “The fuck?”

Good. Unexpected then. 

Before she could catch her bearings and come looking for him—the colder air outside meant he was scannable—Clint hopped up and grabbed the edge of the porch roof, then chinned himself up until he could climb onto it. From there he used the slope of the garage and a nearby tree to make it to the peaked wooden shingles of the top of the house.

He crawled to the peak and then over, till he was above the back deck, a story and a half down. In the pale silver moonlight he saw motion.

Bobbi was standing there, her hand to her goggles, scanning the whole house. The wash of cold air would have just made that feasible for a few minutes. Clint grinned and fished in his pocket for the item he’d taken from his case and the rock he’d picked up on the ground just now.

He reached his hand out and dropped the rock down the near wall, directly below him. It skipped and stuttered against the paneling, sounding like it had been thrown.

As he’d expected she would she turned and looked in the other direction. Steve did that too.

Good, he didn’t want to hurt her.

Rising, Clint threw the loose arrowhead in his hand into the air above her head, aiming for just behind her. 

The he closed his eyes and leapt into the void.

The flash grenade went off and he heard her yell “Mother Fucker!”.

For a crucial second her goggles would have gone black, protecting her eyes from the sudden light. In that second, he landed behind her and wrapped both his powerful arms around her torso from behind. He fell onto his back and then his side, grape-vining her legs, holding her motionless, spooned against the full length of his body. He could hold Thor down under some conditions—which the demi-god had not been too pleased to learn. Mockingbird was effectively in a full body straight jacket. 

She squirmed and snarled in his arms, fruitlessly.

Then, panting, she stilled. “Yield,” she gasped. 

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, hearing her breath catch a moment, then released just a little. She held still, her body trembling with effort and the creeping mountain chill of the air around them.

Clint placed his mouth by her right ear, feeling the ragged scar tissue at the tip against his nose. “You. Are. _Mine_. You understand? Mine.”

She shuddered at the deep, thick growl, whimpering. Against his bare forearm, her nipples were hard through the thin fabric of her top.

He shifted his grip, still holding her tightly, adeptly undoing her zipper, pulling her shorts down. He laid his hand across the hot flesh of her pussy, the coarse hair already soaked with moisture. She arched into him as he unwound his legs and turned them both onto their sides.

“Yes. Yours. _You_ are _mine_ . Mutual,” she whispered. 

“Mine,” Clint hissed again, working his own shorts down far enough that he could free his straining cock. 

“Yes,” she whispered again and he was inside her the next instant, still holding her as motionless as possible against him as the force of his thrusts shook them both. 

She shuddered in his arms, moaning wildly, blissfully. He closed his eyes, unable to concentrate on anything beyond her velvet heat. Feeling her yield to him as she did, giving over all her immense strength and self-control to his will, made his whole body sparkle as though he’d been dipped in electricity. He could fuck for hours, feeling like this, make her scream and come over and over, and still have more to give. 

He worked his free hand under the shirt, pinching at her nipples, the jelly quiver of her breasts pulsing against his palm. 

The orgasm hit him hard and fast, his hips slapping against her buttocks a few more times before he stiffened, his head thrown back. He roared and the sound echoed across the water of the lake, causing some night animal to scream at him in challenge.

They both burst out laughing. Clint pulled himself free of her and hauled his shorts back up, then stood up and threw her over his shoulder. She shrieked another laugh and lightly beat at his back with both fists, for show. 

“Come on, little bird. Before I have to fight a bear for you,” Clint said, slapping her ass lightly. “Jarvis, restore the house temperature and start the hot tub, will you?”

*****

Much much later they were cuddled up in the hot water, looking out over the dark forest. Bobbi was yawning, sated and sleepy, and Clint was slowly coming down from his hunting ‘high’. 

“Little bird, can I ask you something personal?” He said.

“Well, I don’t know if I know you well enough to answer personal questions,” she responded thoughtfully. Then she kissed him on the mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. They both snorted at the same time. 

“What’s your favourite position?”

“You mean politically? I’m in favour of liberal democracy myself.”

“It’s answers like that that make those lines appear on Steve’s forehead.”

“If you’re talking about sex then…hmmm…I like them all except maybe reverse cowgirl is a bit boring.”

“But you do have a favourite, I can tell.”

“Well, Socrates, answer your own question then,” she said, looking at him sideways.

“You get especially happy when I'm behind you. Doggy style, spooning, bent over a chair. I was wondering why?” Clint kissed the tip of her nose and settled back into the water, till it brushed his chin. 

She turned into him and sank down too, her arms circling him under the water. “You’re right. And it’s silly and it goes all the way back to before I even knew what sex was.” Bobbi laid her head against his shoulder just under the water, her hair floating loosely around them.

“I never really had anyone who looked after me. I mean, the boarding school kept us physically safe…sorta…though I learned to fight at twelve for a reason. Then my parents died and I was alone at uni and then Shield and I was alone there because of Fury and then…after and I was totally, utterly alone. the closest I came to feeling safe was my time with Lancelot and even then…he was afraid of me. How could I totally relax around even him? He loved me so much and I still scared the shit out of him.”

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her in a little closer.

“He does love you, little bird. Even I can see and say that. He still loves you. I doubt he’ll ever stop.”

“And he’s always going to be in my heart. But still…it was a distance between us that could never be bridged. And then my world fell apart and Slade…”

She stopped and held very still for a long time, her breathing getting heavier. He didn’t move or speak, letting her get through that moment on her own.

She continued. “You were the first man—first person—I let touch me after that. First person I wanted to touch me. We had chemistry up the wazoo so I wasn’t worried about the sex being good. I was worried I’d look at you, some point during that crazy thirty six hours, and see that fear in your eyes. And I never did. Just…love and pride and concern. Fear for me, yes. Never fear _of_ me. It was like…coming home for real, for the first time ever. And then everything else and joining the team and telling you what happened and there were all these points of failure where everything could have fallen apart. But it didn’t. We got angry and scared at each other and there was still the love. You still looked at me as an equal, not a rival or a thing to be owned. Possession —ran both ways for us, like it still does.”

She turned and swung her legs across his lap, sending waves sloshing around the tub for a moment. 

“The first time, that first night, I let you put me on my knees, your hand on the back of my neck? It felt so good, so primal and real and true. And afterwards I thought about why and I realized that moment was the first time in my whole fucking life I felt utterly, completely _SAFE_. Protected without being diminished. Cherished. Adored. It feels like that every time you bite the back of my neck, all animal and fierce. I don’t feel demeaned or submissive—I feel like a lioness, like a wolf, like some wild thing full of power and joy.”

She paused, thoughtfully.

“Also, when you’re fucking me from behind your cock feels huge. Even more than normal.”

Clint put his hand on the top of her head and pushed her under water.

She was laughing when she emerged and it turned into a brief, snickering water fight before they towelled off and fell into a deep slumber.

*****

Clint sat crosslegged on the end of the pier, his phone in his hand, back in nothing but his shorts. The sun was just past noon, bright and clear, when he heard footsteps on the deck. Bobbi appeared at the top of the short flight of stairs, in a pink bikini bottom and an oversized white t-shirt that read ‘Ask Me About My Feminist Agenda”.

He raised the phone and centred her in the frame of the camera as she posed for a moment. She took a few steps and stopped again and he took more pictures. She advanced towards him, slowly removing the t-shirt in fits and starts, then peeling back the top of her bikini one ample breast at a time. 

Clint called out a few instructions, standing and sitting and kneeling to get different angles, until she was lying topless on the towel he’d positioned at the edge of the water. 

He took over from there, letting the camera caress her breasts, her dark pink nipples, the curve of her hip down to her thighs. He reached out and undid the knots on the sides of the string bikini bottom, tugging it out and away from her body. She titled her head back for him and he got that shot he wanted, from her throat down through her cleavage to the blond mound of her sex. 

She shuddered as he trailed his calloused fingers down her body, circling her nipples more than once. He juggled the phone a moment till he found an angle he liked and took pictures of the rosy folds of her labia, shiny with moisture, barely concealing the wonderful prize at their heart. 

Spreading her wide with his fingers, he laughed as he captured the pink bud of her clit. “You look like a flower. Like the best bouquet ever.” 

“Georgia O’Keeffe would not disagree with you,” she gulped, her voice thick with need. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

“Little bird, I’m putting the phone down now,” he said softly and she nodded. “But I’m not stopping. All right?”

“Yes please,” she said.

Clint settled his big body down between her legs, feeling the sun on his back, the scent of pine and clean water mixing with the salt and musk of her desire as he kissed her intimately. His lips closed over her clit and he sucked in, listening to her gasp. He slid two fingers inside her, stroking them back and forth, living for the slick heat of her against his skin. She moaned his name, her hand stroking the top of his head.

They would have to head back in the next day or two. The team needed them. 

But for now, they weren’t Avengers. They were just a hawk and a mockingbird, safe in their nest, thinking of nothing but pleasure.

Nothing but love.


End file.
